


Trust Fall

by IceTiger3000



Series: From Russia with Love [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Coaches, Fluff and Angst, Good Guy Georgi, M/M, Otabek won't let Yuri down, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Students, Trust, Yakov misses Lilia, Yuri Plisetsky shows his true character, Yuuri Katsuki is an anxious mess, practice, trust fall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 12:50:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13411626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceTiger3000/pseuds/IceTiger3000
Summary: Yakov has his hands full with his unruly Russian team, who get carried away with pranks.Hilarity, hijinks, & fluff!





	Trust Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Airi_J for writing advice!

There were days when coach Yakov Feltsman felt like he was running a circus. Russia’s champion figure skater, Victor Nikiforov, had returned to train in St. Petersburg under his old coach Yakov, trying to pull off his return to competitive skating, while at the same time training his high-strung protege, Japanese skater Yuuri Katsuki. Every so often, Yuuri would either have a rough practice session, or Victor’s head wouldn’t be in his own routine, and Yakov would overhear Victor calming the younger man down, often from a meltdown over guilt at taking Victor’s attention from his own career for so long or for not feeling like he was good enough for Victor. Yakov didn’t envy Victor taking on such an anxious student.

Meanwhile, the Kazakh skater, Otabek Altin, who Yuri Plisetsky had befriended at last year’s Grand Prix Final in Barcelona, had also come out to St. Petersburg to train under Yakov. _That boy has a lot of promise,_ Yakov thought. He was a powerful skater, an incredibly hard worker, and he brought out the best in Yuri, who was always a temperamental and impulsive student at the best of times. Somehow, Otabek calmed Yuri down, and even got him to focus on his skating most of the time. Otabek just needed to up his technical elements, and he could have a real shot at the podium this season.  

Yakov’s Russian team also had the usual full house with the senior students, Mila Babicheva and Georgi Popovich, as well as this season’s promising young junior students, and the rowdy bunch of little ones in his basic skating program (not to mention their high-maintenance parents, who all believed their snot-nosed brat was going to become the next Russian figure skating champion).  

It was mostly his regular group of competition skaters, who gave him trouble, though. Only last week, Yakov had to go out to the parking lot and chase off Mila’s latest ex-boyfriend, some meathead hockey player who wouldn’t get the message that it was over until Yakov practically made the young man shit himself. _I’m getting too old for this,_ Yakov thought.

As they were walking back into the rink, Yakov glanced across and noticed Mila was looking a little too smug and satisfied with herself. Yakov felt tired of dealing with everyone else’s drama, so he barked at the young woman, “Why don’t you just spend this season focusing on your training and quit wasting your spare time with these angry young skaters who all have personality problems?”

Mila laughed playfully and grinned up at the old man, “Oh, so you don’t want me to date Yuri next?”  

Victor had been walking by with his arm around Yuuri Katsuki’s shoulders, gesturing with his free hand as he spoke, and overheard her remark.  

“I don’t think our Yuri would be interested, Mila!” the Russian man winked, gesturing to the little blond teenager on the benches, who had his skating gear scattered all around him on the ground, holding his phone up for Otabek to see, practically crying laughing at whatever they were watching. Otabek rested a relaxed arm around Yuri’s shoulders, and had one of his rare smiles playing across his lips as they watched the video.  

Yakov found out the next day at practice, what they had been watching were prank videos from some American YouTuber. The whole rink was buzzing with it. Mila even showed Yakov a couple videos before he finally waved her away and told her to run through her program again.  

By the end of the day, it had evolved from everyone watching videos on their phones and giggling whenever they could find a spare moment when Yakov wasn’t looking their way, to the skaters strolling up to their rinkmates, spreading out their arms wide and calling out, “Trust fall!” while their friend scrambled to catch them, everyone around them roaring with laughter. When Yuri fell at Mila, she swooped the smaller skater up and held him high above her head, beaming, while the rest of the group laughed uproariously at his screams of protest. Every time he turned around, Yakov was barking at one of his skaters to quit messing around and get back to practice.  

All except Georgi. _At least one of them was serious about their career,_ Yakov thought. The man watched his younger rinkmates acting like a cage full of monkeys, smiling gently and shaking his head over his water bottle, before returning to the ice. He was the same age as Victor, and you would think that Victor, as another coach and a mature skater, would behave like a role model for the younger ones, but he jumped into the stupid game as quickly as any of them.

Yuuri Katsuki spent two days at practice looking over his shoulder like a hunted rabbit, watching to see when Victor was going to try and catch him by surprise and fall for his student to catch him.  It finally happened when Yuuri was bending over and clipping his red and white plastic hard guards onto his blades after his practice session, his long, dark fringe falling across his eyes, when Victor strolled over and joyfully cried out, “Trust fall!”  

Yuuri yelped and stumbled forward while balancing on one foot to try and catch the taller man. They both went down, Victor narrowly missing hitting his head on the corner of the metal bench. Yuuri broke down, hysterically crying, and Victor had to promise him that he wouldn’t do any more falls. Yakov had thought maybe this incident would put an end to the stupid game.  

That afternoon, the senior students had just finished up their sessions and were taking some free practice time on the ice before the junior students arrived. Yakov was leaning against the boards chatting to his former wife, Lilia Baranovskaya. The former prima ballerina of the Bolshoi Ballet often stopped by to see how the skaters were coming along in their progress, usually bringing Yakov some awful, sweetened, milky coffee concoction in a paper cup, which Yakov graciously thanked her for, turning his head to grimace as he drank it. Mila was down at Yakov’s end of the rink easily going through her spins. Her fiery red hair and tight, black top blurred by in alternating flashes of color, one hand poised gracefully above her spinning figure. Otabek was using the other half of the near end of the rink to work through some double jumps. He was paying careful attention to the position of his free leg, determinedly working on keeping his free foot directly behind his skating foot, trying to correct his tendency to throw that foot out to the side.  It seemed like the chaos of the last week was finally settling down.

Mila had just finished for the day, and was skating in a leisurely manner past Otabek to cross over toward the exit. The Kazakh skater had just landed a perfect double axel, and looking satisfied with his work, he glanced up at the big, red scoreboard clock. Suddenly, Yuri Plisetsky came shooting in like a comet, throwing himself into Otabek’s path, howling “TRUST FALLLLLL!!”

Otabek swung around in alarm, barely catching Yuri by the arm as he flew through the air, having to whirl him around, almost performing an aerial death spiral turn to keep them both from skidding across the ice and crashing into the boards. Mila screamed as Yuri’s blade flew past her face.  Mila’s quick reflex as she pushed herself into a stumbling backwards glide was the only thing that narrowly saved her from a disfiguring injury.  

Yakov’s cardboard coffee cup hit the ground at his feet, spraying his trouser legs and the wall with a milky foam, his face contorted into a mask of rage, taking on a beet-red coloring. The man had finally had enough.  The ringing shouts from both Lilia and Yakov echoed around the rink.

“YURI PLISETKSY!” Lilia shrilled, “That was so dangerous! You nearly injured Mila! You could have broken your neck... and Otabek’s!  Apologize to Mila immediately!”

“YURI!” Yakov roared, “I’m going to separate the two of you, I swear! So help me, one more stunt like this from you, and I’m shipping Otabek back to Almaty!”

Yuri looked outraged and defiant, while Otabek at least had the decency to look slightly worried.  

“Oh yeah?” Yuri screamed back at Yakov. “You’re just pissed that there’s no one who would catch you if you fell, old man!  I wouldn’t catch you if you were falling off a cliff!” Yuri’s face was as red as Yakov’s. He violently kicked at the ice in front of him, then tore off to the exit, throwing on his blade guards, and bolting down the hallway away from the rink.  

Yakov sighed. He turned to Otabek and spoke quietly this time, “This is getting dangerous now. Don’t play that game with him anymore. Next time Yuri decides he’s going to fall, just let him hit the ground. He’ll learn his lesson.”

Otabek gave a curt nod, his face blank with his lips pulled into a narrow line. He felt torn between doing what his coach ordered him to do and knowing he would never let Yuri fall.  

That evening, Yakov sat behind the desk in his office, swirling a shot of vodka around an etched, crystal shot glass. Lilia sat opposite him, elegantly holding a glass of chilled white wine. Yakov always kept a bottle of her favorite wine in the little fridge in his office for when she felt like staying behind and chatting with him after practice. Yakov downed his shot, barely wincing, and said to his ex-wife only half-joking, “Lilia, I need to retire before one of these kids gives me a heart attack. I can’t decide if it will be Yuri of Victor who ends up doing me in.”

Lilia smiled across at the man. “You’re not going to retire. You have been saying this for years, but you know you would not know what to do with yourself if you gave up coaching.”  

Yakov looked back at Lilia thoughtfully. Her dark hair was pulled up into its usual tight bun, a frown playing on her naturally pouty lips.  He thought she still looked just as beautiful as she did all those decades ago when they were married. He couldn’t help but think about what Yuri had shouted at him earlier in the day.  Yakov sighed and looked down at his empty glass. He had only had 4 shots tonight.  He thought to himself, _You’re getting soft, old man!_

After Lilia had gone and Yakov was gathering up his coat and some paperwork, he glanced over at the worn leather couch against the wall in his office, piled up with its mismatched plush cushions. Yakov set his things down on his desk and walked over to the couch, turning his back to it. Eyes closed, he folded his arms across his chest, and let himself fall back into the cushions. It didn’t hurt his aching back as much as he had expected it to, and there was something almost nice about just letting yourself go. It only lasted for a moment, but there was something slightly exhilarating in those few seconds of free fall between being in control of yourself and being caught by the soft cushions. It was almost like the feeling you got in the air in the middle of a jump, but falling made you feel a bit more vulnerable. Yakov lay there for a moment, staring pensively up at the overhead light. Then he heaved himself up, straightened the couch cushions, gathered his things, and headed home for the night.  

The next morning at practice, his senior division skaters were all more focused than they had been over the last few days. No one was standing around giggling, staring at their phones, or messing around on the ice. Yakov got the feeling Victor decided to play coach for once and had a talk with the younger skaters about how the pranks and games had crossed the line. Yuri still wore a dark scowl, which was only slightly deeper than his usual scowl. It always took him a few days to get over things after he had gotten a serious scolding from Yakov or Lilia.  

Yakov worked on one end of the rink with Mila and Georgi, while Victor and Yuuri took the far end of the rink. Otabek sat on a bench with a laptop on his knee, working on a mix for his routine, bulky earphones framing his face. Yuri Plisetsky lounged sullenly against the boards, watching Otabek, rather than warming up on the ice before his practice session. When Yakov had finished with his skaters, he called Yuri out, and for nearly an hour they ran through what they had developed so far for his current short program.  

The other skaters who had finished their session for the morning either worked through exercises with each other, or stood at the boards discussing their routines and music, no one in a hurry to leave the rink. While keeping an eye on Yuri’s routine, Yakov also paid attention to his other skaters around the rink. He thought reflectively that they really did work like a big family. It was nice. They had _trust_ in each other. Yuri had skated over to the boards next to Yakov to take a long swig from his water bottle.  

“Are we done here?” Yuri asked sulkily.  

Yakov looked thoughtfully at the surly young man. A wild, impulsive idea popped into his head, and he almost pushed it back down again, but Yakov decided not to think and just to act. Yakov skated past Yuri, as if making toward the exit, but slowed down when he neared the boy, folding his arms across his chest, and shouting out in heavily accented English, “TRUST FALL!”

As Yakov was falling backwards through the cold air, he heard Mila gasp, Victor utter a surprised, “Wow!” and Yuri cry out, “Shit!” as he dove to catch his coach. They both went down to the ice slowly, sinking into a controlled fall that comes as second nature to experienced skaters. Yuri scrambled around and looked down at Yakov with big, concerned eyes, cradling the older man’s balding head. Yakov looked back at Yuri’s anxious, green eyes, startling his student with a broad, out-of-character grin. He said to Yuri, “You know, I actually believed that you wouldn’t catch me.”

Yakov watched as palpable emotions fleeted across Yuri’s face: worry, surprise, hurt, and then the skater’s usual anger. Yuri’s cheeks flushed pink and he bristled, “It was just a reflex!” The other skaters laughed, but the young man looked outraged. Yuri pulled his hands roughly out from under Yakov’s head and stormed off the ice.

  
Yakov lay back on the cold ice, looking up at the painted metal trusses and industrial lights high above the rink. _Yes,_ he smiled to himself. _It felt good to trust._

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me your comments—It means the world!


End file.
